


A friend in needs a friend indeed

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Barebacking, Bottom Sherlock, But he's annoyed, Coming In Pants, Complete, Dating, Detailed masturbation, Dinner?, Failed Date, Fantasizing, First Date, First Kiss, Hint of Mystrade, Internet Dating, John is a Good Friend, Johns Family, M/M, Making Love, Penwings, Picnic, SO MUCH AWKWARD, Sad John, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is a reluctant wanker, Sherlock tries to be romantic, Top John, and he's rubbish, caught masturbating, hints of masturbation, kissing with tongues, pillow humping, zoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: Sherlock found that he was gazing at John for the twentieth time that evening and frowned, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. He had been watching John more than normal over the past several days, and had followed John on more than one occasion through the streets of London; sometimes without even knowing he was purposely doing it. Sherlock had found new ways to touch John, as well; to invade his personal space, push up against him, and be close enough to smell the scent of his skin. It was curious and hindering, and Sherlock wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it all.Getting to his feet, Sherlock paced before the fireplace, trying to keep his eyes off of John’s face. He flushed with a growl, fisting his hands in his hair, “Stop it!” he snarled at John.John blinked up from his novel he had been reading in silence and frowned at his friend, "Sorry, stop what?"Sherlock gestured at him with one hand and then the other, pacing again and then stepping up close to him with an expression of frustration, “Do you have to be so…so…’John’?” he complained





	1. Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_Jo_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jo_Holmes/gifts).



Sherlock found that he was gazing at John for the twentieth time that evening and frowned, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. He had been watching John more than normal over the past several days, and had followed John on more than one occasion through the streets of London; sometimes without even knowing he was purposely doing it. Sherlock had found new ways to touch John, as well; to invade his personal space, push up against him, and be close enough to smell the scent of his skin. It was curious and hindering, and Sherlock wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it all.

Getting to his feet, Sherlock paced before the fireplace, trying (but failing) to keep his eyes off of John’s face. He flushed with a growl, fisting his hands in his hair, “Stop it!” he snarled at John.

John blinked up from his novel he had been reading in silence and frowned at his friend, "Sorry, stop what?"

Sherlock gestured at him with one hand and then the other, pacing again and then stepping up close to him with an expression of frustration, “Do you have to be so…so…’John’?” he complained, rolling his eyes at his own words and then rubbing his face, combing through his hair with a jittery motion and a humourless laugh, “I keep looking at you.”

"I just assumed I had pasta sauce on my chin," John joked before realising that Sherlock was genuinely unnerved.

 _“_ I’m going out. I cannot think with these ever-constant distractions,” Sherlock snarled, flouncing out of the living room and grabbing his coat on his way out. John listened to his footsteps on the stairs before the front door slammed, signalling Sherlock had left.

John sat for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he tried to understand Sherlock’s ramblings before shrugging and picking up his book once more.

* * *

Sherlock immediately set off down the main road towards his favourite bolthole. He mainly used it whenever he wanted to hide from Mycroft, but he decided that today he would spend some time alone, thinking about his current predicament. While walking past the rows and rows of boutiques and coffee shops he stilled, looking through the window of one and watching the various couples in the comfortable seating, peering into one another’s eyes and smiling contentedly.

The detective didn’t need his deduction skills to know that the people in the coffee shop were in relationships, it was obvious to anyone with eyes. Sherlock realised that perhaps _that_ was what he needed to do: reach out into society in an attempt to find someone to possibly have a romantic or physical encounter with to take his mind off his infatuation with his flatmate and best friend.

He practically ran the remaining streets to the small flat. He often allowed some of his most trusted homeless network to sleep in his empty flats, but he was glad that this one was empty at the moment as he shed his coat and reached for the laptop he kept there for emergencies.

Finding a suitable dating site wasn’t difficult, the site promised a dating experience for those people in society who scored above average in IQ tests. Sherlock smiled and filled in his details along with Mycroft’s payment details (it wouldn’t be acceptable for the media to find out he was searching for a partner) and set about looking for a match.

Being a complete innocent in matters of the body and heart, he wasn’t sure about his sexual preference. Deciding to keep it open to both genders, he filled in the age and location boxes before clicking the box which brought up only profiles with pictures.

Sherlock discounted the first two candidates immediately ( _one was using a 20 year old picture, the second was a three-time-married woman who had killed her previous husbands, according to her earrings)_ but the third profile seemed interesting. He was a middle aged lecturer in History, he wore the stereotypical tweed suit and black framed spectacles, but his smile was friendly and unthreatening. Sherlock sent him a message of introduction with a flutter of excitement growing in his belly.

* * *

John looked up at the clock and frowned, Sherlock had been out for a few hours now with no communication. Usually, the detective insisted on texting John numerous times a day either with vitriolic insults at passers-by or with interesting information on the various creatures/people/things he had seen whilst wandering the streets of London (John had been informed of the activities of London pigeons on more than one occasion. _Fascinating,_ apparently). John considered typing out a message, but after remembering the way Sherlock had stormed out, he decided against it and picked out the Thai takeaway menu in an attempt to find something to eat.

John pulled his leg under his arse and looked over at the menu, trying to remain focussed on the words but finding his mind slipping away to Sherlock and the way he had spoken earlier in the day. John had realised rather early on in their friendship that there was something special about Sherlock, something so completely different to everyone else he had ever met that it made John’s heart beat faster and his emotions run wild. Shooting a man after one evening together had been remarkably simple with absolutely no guilt afterwards, especially when they sat together in the little Chinese restaurant chatting like old friends.

His feelings had grown from simple fondness to something else, something heavier and more worrying to John as a heterosexual man. He occasionally found himself imagining long, violin-callused fingers wrapped around his erections instead of pretty and delicate ladies hands. His fantasies had grown rapidly and now included dark curls and plump, cupid bow lips. John had even found himself stroking his hardness whilst imagining pressing up against another man’s prick - _not any man,_ his brain helpfully supplied, _just Sherlock._

The thought that perhaps Sherlock had similar feelings had never occurred to him. Relationships and sentiment weren’t Sherlock’s ‘area’ and John didn’t want to put his feelings on the table in case Sherlock shot him down; the air between them would become tense and awkward until eventually it drove them apart. John had repeated Sherlock’s earlier words again and again in his mind, feeling hope bubbling in his stomach which he hoped wasn’t just hunger.

Remembering his current task, John called up the Thai restaurant. He had just placed his order when Sherlock’s footsteps sounded on the stairs; John looked up as the detective walked into the room, unwinding his scarf with red-tinged cheeks and a smile.

 _“_ You look happy,” John smiled as he sat back in his seat and tapped his fingers against the fabric of the chair, “Locked room murder on the way home?”

Sherlock scoffed playfully, “Unfortunately not…I’ve er…well, I’ve got a date.”

John blinked rapidly, looking over at his friend with his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline, “What? Is it for a case?” he frowned, feeling foolish for thinking that there could be any romantic future between the two of them.

 _“_ No,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I do occasionally do things which are unrelated to solving crime.”

 _“_ No you don’t,” John countered, “You sit around in a sheet waiting for the next case, solve it, and then sulk and repeat the process.”

 _“_ Well…regardless of that fact, I have a date tonight,” Sherlock said, messing with his hair as he looked into the mirror. His cheeks were flushed which he hoped John would blame on the cool air outside the flat rather than the true reason, which was currently sitting in the red chair in front of him. Sherlock inhaled deeply and turned away, walking towards his bedroom to put together his battle dress.

 _“_ Hold on. Who is this person? Where did you meet them?” John called out after him, throwing himself out of the chair and following Sherlock down the hallway.

 _“_ His name is Rupert and he’s a lecturer at Oxford,” Sherlock replied, his eyes flicking over his clothes in his wardrobe, “I met him online.”

 _“_ Woah, right, hold on,” John replied, putting his hands out, “You met a person called Rupert…on the internet?”

 _“_ Yes. Rupert. Do keep up John,” Sherlock grumbled.

 _“_ He’s quite obviously a serial killer. There is no way that somebody normal has a name like bloody Rupert,” John said slightly more defensively than he intended.

 _“_ His name is not Bloody Rupert...although that would be a good name for a serial killer if he was one…which he is not,” Sherlock responded, pulling out a pair of black trousers before putting his finger to his mouth and looking across the racks of silk shirts, “Which do you prefer: white or crimson?”

 _“_ What?” John asked, blinking as a heavy feeling of jealousy settled in his lower stomach, _“_ Oh er…that one,” he pointed to a striped flannel shirt which was laid out on one of Sherlock’s shelves.

 _“_ John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “that is a pyjama top. As much as I appreciate that you’re obsessed with sex, I can’t imagine that Rupert will be seeing my bedwear after one evening together…” he said thoughtfully before blushing, “Although maybe…”

 _“_ No,” John called out loud, “you can’t sleep with him!”

 _Real cool_ John’s brain cried out, causing the doctor to cringe and scrub at his face.

 _“_ Can I not?” the detective asked, turning rapidly to stare down at his friend, “And why is that?”

 _“_ You don’t know him!” John insisted, “He could be insane, or a catfish!…or a stalker…or one of those mad fan-people who write smutty stories on the internet about us.”

 _“_ Statistically, _you’re_ more likely to come across a fangirl than I am. They are typically women and it seems that is very much _your area,_ so I don’t think I have much to worry about, do you?” Sherlock chuckled mirthlessly, “and it doesn’t usually stop you. You still insist on dating vacuous women and luring them back to your room in an attempt to break the world record for the loudest human shriek.”

 _“_ That’s different,” John argued, his cheeks flushed pink.

 _“_ How so?” Sherlock asked, turning around to find a pair of socks from his index.

 _“_ Well…I…I have experience with dating; I can spot the crazy ones,” the doctor replied.

 _“_ Ohhh, like the one who set fire to all of your music records when you dumped her?” Sherlock asked, his eyebrow raised, “Not crazy at all.”

Realising that they were getting off topic, John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and was surprised when the detective flinched, bucking his muscles until John’s hand slipped off, “I just thought because of what Mycroft said…”

 _“_ Mycroft says a lot of things. I purposefully ignore him,” Sherlock explained as he laid out his clothes on his bed, turning to look at John, “Now, are you finished? I need to begin getting ready. I’m meeting Rupert at 8pm.”

 _“_ Where are you meeting?” John asked, emotion clearly flowing through his voice which he hoped Sherlock would miss.

 _“_ A small place just outside Covent Garden,” Sherlock replied as he picked up a towel and headed for the adjoining door between bedroom and the bathroom, “French, and quite pricey, but I thought it might be worth it for my first official date,” he winked.

John squared his shoulders and was about to argue before the shrill voice of Mrs. Hudson echoed up the stairs letting him know that his food was here. John stared at Sherlock for another second before holding up a finger, “We’re not done here.”

 _“_ Hmm,” Sherlock mumbled, walking through the door before shouting, “I hope I have conditioner left; I hate when you use it all for your masturbatory sessions.”


	2. Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first date.
> 
> I'm really sorry If I'm spamming people with stories. I'm going to try to post once a day with this story.

John sat at the kitchen table with his small feast of Thai food which suddenly tasted bland and tasteless as he struggled to focus his thoughts. Sherlock Holmes, the sentiment-hating, almost-certainly-a-virgin, consulting detective had a date…not only that, but he had a date with a man named Rupert ( _ John didn’t know people were actually called Rupert after the 1950’s _ ). John swallowed dryly and took a sip of water as he listened to the running shower opposite and scrubbed at his face. He briefly considered barging into the bathroom and getting onto his knees beside the bath and offering his body to Sherlock, but quickly shook the thought away. He felt sick, like the Thai food currently working its way to his stomach was too heavy to digest and he swallowed again and again in an attempt to force it down.

The sound of the shower turning off was followed by the familiar pattering of Sherlock’s feet against the lino of the bathroom. John sighed and stood up, taking his various containers to the kitchen counter and wrapping them in cling film before putting them into the fridge ( _ away from the box of canine anal glands, thank you)  _ and moving to sit in his chair.

Fifteen minutes passed in relative silence - broken only by a passer-by whistling and Mrs. Hudson’s television - before Sherlock sauntered out of his bedroom with his long, pale fingers buttoning up the pearl buttons of his white shirt. John looked up and immediately wished that he hadn’t; Sherlock’s hair was perfectly curled and coiffed, and his blue-green eyes sparkled with excitement as he slipped on his expensive Italian brogues.

_ “ _ I don’t expect I will be engaging in sex, so I probably won’t be late. I have my keys,” Sherlock said as he stood up and fixed his collar in the mirror, allowing John a whiff of his expensive and tailor-made cologne.

_ “ _ Right,” John coughed “I...er…be careful. I’ll be in all night if you need me.”

_ “ _ Why would I need you?” Sherlock frowned.

_ “ _ No reason at all,” John added sadly, “Have a good night.”

Sherlock stilled and looked down at his friend, confusion marring his features as he desperately attempted to read John’s body language. John turned his head away, unwilling to allow Sherlock to see just how affected he was, which seemed to break the spell for the detective. Inhaling deeply, Sherlock turned on his heel and marched out of the door and down the stairs into the evening.

The French restaurant was cosy and beautifully furnished, creating a romantic ambiance with the walls covered in faux grass and pretty branches arching over the tables where other couples sat eating and chatting. Sherlock was taken to his table and seated before being given the extensive wine list. The detective smiled and spoke to the waiter in a few words of French, ordering a mid-range priced wine before he sat back and looked around the room. His stomach was fizzing with excitement, but there was an underlying sensation which he couldn’t quite place as he thought of John, sitting at home alone. The older man had seemed affected by Sherlock’s date in a way which Sherlock didn’t understand; he considered going into his mind palace to replay the conversation, but decided against it as he couldn’t always escape his mind-map rapidly and he didn’t want to be sitting in a nice restaurant staring into space like a mindless idiot.

Sherlock checked his watch; he had ten minutes until Rupert was expected, which gave him more than enough time to consider his strategy. He had looked online for dating tips which suggested that he ask relevant questions, talk about himself when it was suitable, but to avoid all topics of ex-relationships  _ (not that that would be an issue).  _ Sherlock fiddled with his napkin and thanked the waiter when he returned with his wine and asked if he was ready to order.

_ “ _ No, I’m waiting for someone,” Sherlock stated.

_ “ _ Very good, sir,” the waiter said with a gentle French lilt as he turned away to wait on other tables.

Twenty minutes passed slowly as Sherlock sipped his wine and ensured he didn’t look around at the other patrons, who gave him looks of sympathy at obviously being stood up. Picking up his mobile, he considered calling Rupert to see what the delay was but instead found that he had an email from the other man via the dating website. Sherlock opened the message and frowned at the words:

_ Sherlock, _

_ Forgive my cowardice at contacting you in this way. I hope this arrives in time before our planned date, but I feel I cannot continue our liaison. During the day, I happened to read an online newspaper where I saw a picture of yourself and another man helping Scotland Yard on a grisly murder case. The information stated that you were a ‘consulting detective’ and had become quite famous for your genius way of thinking about problems. I had no idea that you were in the public eye and it has thrown a spanner in the works slightly. I am not what you would consider an ‘out’ gay man. I have few friends who are aware of my sexual orientation and my workmates and the college itself do not know that I am gay. I worried that if we were to go on a date, we may get ‘papped’ by the papers and my whole life would be exposed in the news for anyone to read. This I cannot do; I have worked hard to achieve my position and would hate to have it taken away, therefore I am unable to meet you for our date. _

_ I hope you find happiness. _

_ My apologies, Rupert _

Sherlock read the email twice more before slamming his mobile onto the table and rubbing at his eyes. The woman on the table beside him reached a hand out to place on his shoulder, “Chin up, pet, it was probably never meant to be.”

_ “ _ What do  _ you _ know?” Sherlock spat, looking across at her partner, “He’s having an affair with your daughter. He’s brought you to a public place to explain that so you wouldn’t make a scene.”

The woman blinked in shock between Sherlock and her husband before watching as the tall detective stood from the table, throwing money onto his clean plate for the wine. He reached the exit just as the woman began to scream and throw herself over the table to scratch at her mate’s eyes.

* * *

John sat staring at the TV in an attempt to force his mind away from Sherlock’s date. He had tried all his usual favourite shows and had even clicked over to Babestation to watch bikini-clad women attempt to seduce him into calling premium rate numbers, but nothing worked: he was still focussed on Sherlock and Rupert. Scrubbing at his face with his hands, he sat back in his chair and sighed; he needed a date of his own. The last few hadn’t gone well due to his ever constant discussions of Sherlock and ‘The Work’ which seemed to put the women off. John had made do with rapid and hurried wanks in the shower to sate his libido, but perhaps he needed something stronger to get him over his ridiculous infatuation with his best friend.

He walked to the fridge and took out his leftover Thai. Grabbing a fork, he scooped mouthfuls of the cold food into his mouth on the way back to his chair where he collapsed with a deep and sorrowful sigh.

_ “ _ Oh dear, not feeling so well?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she shuffled into the living room carrying a tray of scones, “You seem a bit down, John.”

_ “ _ No, no I’m fine,” John attempted to smile, “Just…tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

_ “ _ Herbal soothers,” Mrs. Hudson grinned, “Helps me shut out the racket that Sherlock makes at all hours of the day.”

_ “ _ Hmmm I know all about your soothers,” John replied with a pointedly lifted eyebrow, “Doesn’t take a deductive genius to work out your little growing apparatus in 221C.”

_ “ _ I have no idea what you mean,” Mrs Hudson flushed, putting the scones down and moving to John’s side, “Have you and Sherlock had a fight?”

_ “ _ No, nothing like that,” John sighed, forking another bit of food into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, “He’s er…on a date.”

_ “ _ A date?” Mrs. Hudson tittered, “Oh John, pull the other one!”

_ “ _ No…honestly. He’s on a date…apparently with a man named Rupert,” John said after he had swallowed.

Mrs. Hudson stayed silent but put a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, “He’ll realise eventually. He’ll see it. Just give him time.”

_ “ _ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John spluttered.

Martha squeezed softly and took a step back towards the door, “I’m only your landlady but I…I see things. I see the way you are together; how much he has changed since you came into his life,” she smiled proudly, “You two are…well…you’re meant to be.”

_ “ _ Not if Rupert gets his claws in first,” John grimaced, “I’m tired, Mrs. H; think I’ll have an early night.”

_ “ _ Okay love, sweet dreams,” she smiled and dipped her head as she walked out of the flat and down the stairs.

John had no intentions of going to bed, he knew exactly what would happen if he did. His traitorous hands would move to cup his cock and he would end up wanking himself until he spent over his stomach, only to be filled with regret and sadness at his patheticness. He flicked onto a detective show, thankful for the background noise which stopped his brain from thinking.

_ “ _ It was the driver,” a deep voice from behind said, “He was sleeping with the lady of the house.”

_ “ _ Jesus,” John jumped, turning in his chair to see Sherlock standing with his head cocked to one side slightly, “You’re like a bloody cat. You need a bell around your neck.”

_ “ _ Hmm,” Sherlock hummed before slouching into his chair and kicking off his brogues.

_ “ _ How was your date?” John asked reluctantly, “You’re back early. Did you not fancy him? Was he ugly? Or smelly?”

_ “ _ No, none of those things,” Sherlock sighed, messing with his hair until it frizzed into its usual nest of curls, “He was translucent.”

_ “ _ He was what?” John asked with a frown.

_ “ _ Invisible…not there…he - well, he stood me up,” Sherlock admitted with a faint blush, “He had googled my name and found out about The Work and decided he didn’t want to chance being outed by the press.”

_ “ _ It’s 2015…” John trailed off, “It’s hardly the 50s when it was illegal. Gay people can get  _ married _ now for god’s sakes.”

Sherlock gave a shrug, “I’m not sure I would like to date a closeted homosexual…I already have one person who shouts ‘I’m not gay’ at every given opportunity, not sure I could handle two.”

_ “ _ That’s not fair,” John griped, “I only say that because I know you don’t…well, you  _ didn’t _ do that. I didn’t want you being embarrassed.”

_ “ _ Why would I be embarrassed?” Sherlock frowned.

_ “ _ Well, look at you,” John chuckled dryly, “You’re like something out of Vogue, with your expensive suits and your ridiculously pricey coat, whereas me…I’m just a squat fella with a bust shoulder and a love of Marks and Spencer jumpers. I just assumed you’d go for someone better looking or more successful.”

_ “ _ You’re a doctor and a soldier,” Sherlock countered, “I’d say you’re fairly successful.”

_ “ _ Thanks,” John smiled shyly, “But anyway, how are you feeling?”

_ “ _ I -- I feel strange,” Sherlock admitted, “I think it might be relief.”

_ “ _ Relief?” John asked with a confused look.

_ “ _ Yes, well…I don’t believe I was looking for a relationship for the correct motives,” Sherlock grumbled, pressing his fingers together and to his lips, “I also don’t think I’m the dating type. I accidentally managed to start a fight in the restaurant.”

_ “Accidentally _ started a fight?” John chuckled “How did you do that?”

Sherlock waved the question away with his hands, “A few accidental deductions.”

John folded his arms and looked up at his friend with a soft smile. It didn’t take a detective to work out that Sherlock was craving the experience of a date to fill in the gaps of his knowledge, coupled with the comment of Sherlock’s about the ‘correct motives’ John felt better about the whole experience. It wasn’t that Sherlock was looking for sex and sentiment elsewhere, he just wanted to experiment. John felt slightly proud of himself for working it out and immediately began to talk before his brain had edited the words.

_ “ _ We could go out for a date…I mean to practice? Or just for the experience. I’d be able to go through how you should act, what things to say and do and then if…if the need to date comes up again, then you can do it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously, John obviously didn’t observe the way Sherlock felt about him which was useful, and the opportunity to go out on dates with John could be twisted in his mind palace to suggest that they really were together for Sherlock to bask in at a later date. He inhaled deeply and looked down at John, “Are you sure?”

_ “ _ I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” John chirped, “but you have to take this seriously. No messing around.”

_ “ _ Of course,” Sherlock nodded, “I will follow your lead entirely.”

_ “ _ Okay. We can start tomorrow,” John smiled, “you should text me a suitable message asking me out. It can be your choice, but please nothing gruesome or creepy. I’m not eating my lunch in the morgue again.”

_ “ _ There were candles,” Sherlock grumbled.

_ “ _ The man had been in his bathtub for 3 months. I think Molly lit them in an attempt to hide the smell,” John laughed, “not exactly romantic.”

_ “ _ Okay, so romantic,” Sherlock pointed with his finger and feeling the first flutter of butterflies in his stomach, “What else? What else should I ensure is available?”

_ “ _ No, I’m not telling; you have to decide and then message me. I’ll be at work, so you can make the arrangements in secret,” John smiled softly, “You could always ask Mycroft for help.”

_ “ _ Why would I do that?” Sherlock asked, looking utterly horrified.

_ “ _ From what I hear from Greg, he’s rather a romantic softy at heart,” John replied, “I heard that Mycr--”

_ “ _ No!” Sherlock shouted, turning his back, “I don’t want to hear any more lest I vomit out my entire central nervous system.”

_ “ _ They went on a swan paddle boat,” John called after Sherlock, his tummy somersaulting at the thought of dating Sherlock…pretend or not.

John laughed as he heard the first dramatic sounds of Sherlock play-retching.


	3. Romancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I slightly love this chapter!

John awoke early, stretching and groaning as the stiffness lifted from his shoulder as he rolled it against the mattress. He climbed into the shower and shaved before pulling on his trusty GP uniform (his usual khaki trousers, shirt and jumper with a tie) and pulled on his shoes before ensuring he had his mobile and wallet in his pocket. He had been unable to sleep after he had retired to bed, and finally gave in to his urge to stroke himself fast and hard under the sheets, coming into his fist with a sharp gasp and groan. He washed himself up and then returned to bed where he desperately fought hard not to think about Sherlock, with no luck. He fell into a fitful sleep sometime after.

Walking down the stairs, he noticed Sherlock was still sleeping (or whatever the younger man did in his bedroom; he considered for a moment that maybe Sherlock was hanging upside down like a bat with his great coat wrapped around him like wings) so he grabbed a couple of breakfast bars from the cupboard and set off towards work.

A few hours later he was just finishing up some paperwork when his phone chimed. A bolt of excitement and trepidation shot through him as he carefully swiped the screen and read the message.

**Are you paying too much for your home insurance? Call now!**

John groaned in disappointment and placed the phone back onto his desk, scratching his neck as his mind whirred into action. Perhaps Sherlock had changed his mind? The thought of spending time with John in an intimate setting may have caused the detective to have second thoughts and decide it really wasn’t worth the hassle.

The phone linked to reception began to ring, startling John and making him jump and chuckle as he picked up the receiver.

_ “ _ Dr. Watson? There’s a er…a package for you at reception,” the young receptionist said with a soft Scottish lilt.

John frowned but stood from his chair with a creaking knee, limping to the front desk he stared and blinked at the large package on the desk.

_ “ _ Does it say who it’s from?” he asked nervously.

_ “ _ No,” the girl shrugged, “have you ordered something?”

_ “ _ Hmm, no,” John answered, lifting up the package and taking it into his office. A brief moment of fear flashed through his mind as he remembered Moriarty’s bomb-making plots, but quickly discounted it at the relatively light weight of the box. Putting it on his desk, he grabbed the scissors and pulled open the taped flaps. He laughed at an embarrassingly high pitch when a balloon floated out in the shape of a love heart.

John looked around at the bottom of the box but couldn’t find any message; he hoped it was from Sherlock, but it seemed that it was more likely a mistake. There were a lot of John Watson’s around the area, after all.

The doctor popped it in the storage cupboard attached to his room and washed his hands before calling in his next patient, thinking nothing more about it.

* * *

John was starting to get flustered now. The receptionists were openly laughing at him and his patients had taken to taking photographs and sharing them online as the gifts became more and more outlandish.

After the balloon, he had received a hamper full of retro sweets  _ (which he immediately opened, accident or not they looked bloody delicious)  _ followed by two dozen red roses, a second bunch of white roses with a ludicrously expensive looking box of chocolates attached, and finally, a 7-foot-tall teddy bear (complete with velvet ribbon around its neck) which John had to wrestle through the doors to his office.

Lifting his phone, he dialled Sherlock who answered on the first ring, “Oh, hello John.”

_ “ _ Is this you?!” John asked harshly into the speaker.

_ “ _ Of course it’s me…who else would be answering my phone?” the detective scoffed.

_ “ _ Not that! This!” he said as he gestured around the now-full store room.

_ “ _ I can’t see what you’re talking about. Describe it,” Sherlock replied.

_ “ _ A metric shit ton of romantic stuff! Flowers and chocolates and bears!” John ranted.

_ “ _ Oh my,” Sherlock quipped before giggling.  _ Giggling. _

Sherlock’s giggle stopped John’s fury and caused the smaller man to laugh himself, before throwing himself into his chair, “What the bloody hell is this about?”

_ “ _ You said romantic,” Sherlock grumbled, feeling his cheeks burning as he spoke, “This is what came up when I Googled ‘romantic gestures’.”

_ “ _ Oh, Sherlock,” John sighed with a soft smile, “you didn’t have to do all of this.”

_ “ _ Did I do it wrong?” Sherlock asked cautiously, “Because I did ask the person on the telephone what she thought.”

_ “ _ What she thought about what?” John frowned.

_ “ _ I asked if she thought this gesture was suitable for somebody who wanted to invite a person out on a date,” Sherlock continued, “she promised me it was, so if I’ve done it wrong then we will need to discuss it with her. I think it’s terrible that someone with such dreadful judgment is working in that sector with members of the public.”

_ “ _ Sherl-” John started only to be cut off.

_ “ _ Perhaps I should get Lestrade to interview her? Or contact trading standards?”

_ “ _ Sherlock!” John shouted with a laugh, “It’s…fine. It’s good, but I only wanted a text with a date venue. Have you thought of one yet?”

_ “ _ Yes I er…I rather thought…” Sherlock trailed off, taking a deep breath before trying again, “Would you like to come on a picnic with me?”

_ “ _ A picnic?” John asked, his tummy fluttering once more  _ (something he would definitely need to learn to hide from Sherlock), “ _ That’s...yeah, that would be nice.”

_ “ _ Good. Great…that’s good,” Sherlock jumped on the spot gracefully, grateful that John couldn’t see his response, “I’ll have everything ready for when you finish. Is 6pm good for you?”

_ “ _ Fine,” John smiled.

_ “ _ Hyde Park then, 6pm. Near the lake, I would imagine. We can find a good spot. I’ll bring food,” Sherlock grinned into the receiver.

_ “ _ You’re cooking? Is that wise?” John chuckled.

_ “ _ Don’t be ridiculous, John. Mrs. Hudson will be preparing them,” Sherlock replied, “Goodbye, John.”

John stared at the black screen of his handset for longer than he cared to admit.

* * *

John made sure that the oversized bear was carefully placed in the back of a cab - secured with the seatbelt - whilst the cabbie was given an adequate tip to ensure it was dropped off at St. Ormonds Street children’s hospital. The two dozen red roses were sent anonymously to Miss M. Hooper at St. Barts, whilst the white roses and chocolates were on their way via one of Sherlock’s homeless network to Mrs. Hudson.

John pulled on his satchel and walked out of the office, giving a cheery wave to the staff as he left the building and headed towards the park where Sherlock was hopefully waiting.

John smiled as he walked towards the familiar body sitting with his back to him. Sherlock had taken off his coat and was wearing his tight purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his legs were outstretched and supported by the largest tartan blanket that John had ever seen.

_ “ _ Hello,” the doctor whispered once he was close enough to be heard.

He watched as Sherlock turned his head before scrambling to his feet and wiping his hands on the legs of his trousers, “Hello, John.”

_ “ _ This looks nice,” John smiled down at the blanket. There was a large woven picnic basket which seemed full of sandwiches and various finger foods. Beside it was a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a box of fresh strawberries.

_ “ _ Er…please sit down,” Sherlock offered, moving to one side and taking a seat opposite John on the blanket, “Can I get you a drink?”

John smiled, Sherlock had obviously been doing his homework on the topic and he nodded his head, “Please.”

Sherlock poured them both a glass of wine, handing John’s over and then taking a sip of his own, “How was your day?”

_ “ _ Interesting,” John chuckled “and yours?”

_ “ _ Fine,” Sherlock nodded before they descended into silence, which felt slightly strained. John could tell Sherlock was nervous and struggling for topics to talk about, so he quickly jumped in, “I read about your latest case; did you solve it?”

Sherlock knew that John was pretending not to know that the case was solved, but he was thankful of his friend’s prompt, “Ah, of course. Simple case of counterfeiting, I’m afraid. Nothing interesting or gruesome. I don’t get many good murders.”

John cleared his throat, “Just as a tip, probably avoid talking about gory murders during a first date.”

_ “ _ Oh,” Sherlock looked down, “I…I got confused because it’s you.”

John felt slightly guilty and reached over to squeeze Sherlock’s hand, “It’s alright. Why don’t we just be us on a date? We know each other and we don’t have to pretend, but we can still do the datey stuff.”

_ “ _ Okay. That may be more suitable,” Sherlock agreed, exhaling deeply.

John felt himself relax slightly as he slipped off his jacket and stretched his arms behind him to rest on, “It’s a lovely day.”

_ “ _ Hmm,” Sherlock hummed, shrugging his shoulders, “I found this preferable to going to a dreadful pub - I know the types you like to frequent with Lestrade - or the cinema,” he gave a faux shudder, “Sitting in an enclosed space with strangers whilst they stuff themselves full of crunchy foods and chatter on their mobile phones…also, the movies are terrible.”

John laughed slightly and rolled his shoulders, “We could just watch a film at home. You could cook. Usually that’s around the third date.”

_ “ _ And what should we do for our second?” Sherlock asked with a tiny frown.

_ “ _ Presumptuous,” John smiled, “Who says you’re getting a second date?”

_ “ _ Oh…well…that was the agreement, wasn’t it?” Sherlock insisted with a deeper frown, “You promised.”

_ “ _ Yes I did; I was just joking,” John reassured, “but if you date properly, then you might not get as many dates as you would expect. Sometimes things just don’t really click.”

_ “We _ clicked. That first night…didn’t we?” Sherlock asked tentatively, looking down at his fingers.

John turned to look at Sherlock, the detective seemed almost afraid or anxious of John’s response, “Er…” John said eloquently, “I think so.”

_ “ _ You did kill a man for me in less than 24 hours,” Sherlock muttered, looking up at John through his long lashes.

_ “ _ Yeah, suppose I did,” John smiled, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s for a lingering moment before he pulled away, “So, what’s this food then? I’m starving.”

_ “ _ Oh, something Mrs. Hudson arranged,” the younger man waved away, “eat.”


	4. Romancing Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy! I went to practice decorating one of the tables for my wedding today and it was perfect! Only 107 days until I marry the love of my life.
> 
> Because I'm so happy, I'll post two chapters today. One now, and one later on! 
> 
> Here's a sneak peek!
> 
> [Wedding Table](https://68.media.tumblr.com/eb8a3306011ea38a5ed0d9f3c92a106b/tumblr_opcmq5Adg71sb52aoo1_540.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW child death (mentioned, not graphic)

_ “ _ What sort of things do people talk about on dates?” Sherlock asked as he chewed on a miniature pork pie, “I had been planning to ask Rupert about his work; he taught history at Oxford and I wondered if I might go into the college and look through their resources.”

Yeah, I mean…asking them about their job is good, but not asking for access to their files,” John huffed a laugh, “not on the first date anyway.”

_ “ _ This is so confusing,” Sherlock admitted with a dramatic sigh, “So, I must pretend I’m interested in their tedious lives without actually getting anything out of it?”

_ “ _ You get a better understanding of their lives,” John took a sip of wine and shrugged, “to see whether you’re compatible.”

_ “ _ I’m not,” Sherlock grumbled, “compatible, that is; 99% of the population cannot stand to be around me for any length of time.”

John desperately tried to hide the blush starting across his cheeks, “Well, you have me.  _ I _ like being around you.”

_ “ _ Yes…you do,” Sherlock dipped his head and smiled at his fingers before seemingly remembering his original topic, “What do  _ you _ talk about on dates? Ask me a date question.”

John was slightly thrown by the quick change in topic, but shuffled his body so he was facing Sherlock, “Tell me about your family; do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You know I do. Sadly, you’ve met him.”

_ “ _ We’re on a date remember; your date won’t already know, so you have to tell them about your life, your background,” John countered, pressing more food into his mouth and licking his lips.

Sherlock watched as John’s pink tongue flicked out of his mouth to catch the crumbs on his lips. The detective followed the movement across the thin, pale lips before taking a rapid and audible deep breath, “Mmzzrrhh.”

_ “ _ What?” John frowned.

_ “ _ Mycroft. My brother,” Sherlock replied, acting nonchalant, “he’s a complete arse. Loves sticking his nose in where it’s not wanted, needed, or appreciated. He seems to think that because I previously had a drug issue, he needs to babysit me.”

John nodded but lifted a finger, “I wouldn’t discuss the drug issue on your first date.”

_ “ _ Why? You’ve just said people want to know about my life, and that happened  _ in my life _ ,” Sherlock sighed, scrubbing at his curls, “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

_ “ _ You’re fine. That’s why we are practicing right? You’re going to be a Love God by the time I’m finished with you,” John laughed and squeezed Sherlock’s knee softly, feeling the tight muscles twitch in Sherlock’s thigh.

_ “ _ W-what about your family?” Sherlock stammered before clearing his throat.

_ “ _ My parents died a while back,” John spoke softly, “Mum had cancer, dad had cirrhosis through drinking…” he trailed off before continuing, “my sister is working her way towards that, too.”

_ “ _ I’m sorry…” Sherlock trailed off, feeling awful for bringing up the subject.

_ “ _ It’s okay,” John smiled, “I don’t speak to my sister as often as I should, as she tries to guilt me into doing things for her. I certainly don’t visit.”

_ “ _ She could come to us,” Sherlock answered with a look of concern, “if you wanted to see her...she could stay at Baker Street.”

_ “ _ You wouldn’t like her,” John shook his head and laughed, “I think you two would rip each other to shreds within moments.”

_ “ _ I’d be good…for you. If it meant a lot to you, then I’d behave,” Sherlock whispered, looking up at John through long lashes and feeling a strange tension between the pair of them, “Or I’d stay in Mrs Hudson’s spare room. She could have my room.”

_ “ _ I’m not kicking you out of our home,” John rubbed his face, “and I don’t want her to come anyway. She brings up…things. Things I don’t like remembering.”

Sherlock frowned, his eyes zipping across John’s face and posture as he tried to read what was causing his friend so much pain, “Then she shouldn’t come.”

_ “ _ I had a brother once…” John whispered, fiddling with the frayed edges of the large blanket beneath him, “He died when he was five.”

_ “ _ I…I didn’t know that,” Sherlock admitted, leaning forward to listen more intently to whatever John wanted to share.

_ “ _ I was seven. Harry was ten. We were playing on the street in front of our house. Davey was playing with his ball in the garden, but somehow it rolled out of the gate and he chased it into the road…he was hit by a car,” John paused, wondering why he had decided to talk about this. He had never spoken to another soul except Harry about their baby brother.

_ “ _ John,” Sherlock whispered, reaching his hand to cautiously touch John’s shoulder.

_ “ _ We heard the squeal of brakes followed by a thud. The driver was inconsolable, it wasn’t his fault at all, but everything was a blur after that. My mum was screaming, dad was punching the wall as he screamed blue murder, and all the while, Davey was trapped under the car.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and carefully moved his hand down to rest on John’s arm, unsure of what else he should be doing.

_ “ _ The paramedics came, two massive white ambulances. I remember the flashing lights,” John sighed, “I was standing watching the scene, and one of the paramedics scooped me up and moved me away. Took me behind the ambulance so I wasn’t watching when the fire brigade arrived to lift the car up. The doctor sat on the kerb with me and told me a story about a pirate,” he smiled warmly, “This man, this complete stranger, realised that I was utterly traumatised and took me away from the scene. He helped to calm me down and take me away from the screams of my mother and the swearing of my father. From that moment on, I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people.”

_ “ _ You do,” Sherlock said, turning his head in order to wipe away a tear which had fallen down his cheek, “I’ve seen you go into the worst scenes and make everything better. Remember the Smith case?”

_ “ _ Smith case?” John asked with a frown, attempting to remember.

_ “ _ The young girl who found the dead body? She was inconsolable. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, almost…yet you took control of the scene and moved the idiotic Yard out of the way to ensure she was ok. I remember the first thing she said,” Sherlock smiled warmly, “She said ‘Don’t leave’ when you were going to hand her over to the paramedics.”

_ “ _ I remember,” John nodded.

_ “ _ You did exactly what that paramedic did for you. You helped,” Sherlock replied, giving John’s arm a gentle squeeze.

_ “ _ Yeah…yeah, I suppose I did,” John smiled, his eyes sparkling with happiness, “God, that got a bit depressing rapidly. Probably shouldn’t talk about dead siblings on your first date, either.”

_ “ _ Shame,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Although, we’d have to kill Mycroft first.”

_ “ _ Don’t say that,” John tutted, “You’d miss him, really.”

_ “ _ Doubtful,” Sherlock responded, “although I suppose breaking into places without his ID would be harder. Plus, we’d have to actually pay our own bills; right now I just charge them to his cards.”

The evening was rapidly approaching, and John was starting to feel the first chill in the air. He looked over at Sherlock who was sipping the last bit of wine in his glass, “Should we get going? It’s starting to get a bit cold.”

Sherlock nodded and began packing up the hamper before shooing John from the blanket to fold it and place it inside the basket, “I enjoyed my first date.”

_ “ _ As did I,” John smiled, “I’ll let you walk me home.”

_ “ _ Is that part of the date?” Sherlock asked with a confused look, “Should I offer that, or will it seem like stalking if I just follow?”

_ “ _ Yeah, definitely ask first,” John chuckled, “Want me to carry anything?”

_ “ _ No, I’ve got it,” Sherlock smiled and gestured a hand for John to lead the way as he followed in beside him, “What are your plans for this evening?”

_ “ _ Bath. Telly. Bed,” John sighed, “I think Top Gear is on tonight.”

_ “ _ Fabulous. Another car show,” Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully.

_ “ _ You enjoy it, really,” John muttered as he elbowed Sherlock in the ribs softly.

_ “ _ Quiet,” Sherlock grumbled, “I think I’ll continue my experiment on feline lungs.”

_ “ _ Lovely,” John grimaced, “That’s probably a no-no on a first date, too.”

_ “ _ So, basically I just shouldn’t tell them anything about what I do, used to do, or will be doing in the future?” Sherlock huffed in frustration, “Got it.”

The two men walked in silence for a few streets until they reached home. John stopped outside the black door and slapped Sherlock’s hand when he attempted to put the key into the lock, “I had a lovely evening.”

_ “ _ Oh,” Sherlock lifted his eyes, realising what John was doing, “As did I.”

_ “ _ Can I see you again?” John asked flirtatiously.

_ “ _ Oh...er…yes,” Sherlock stammered, his cheeks lighting up pink up to his ears.

_ “ _ Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes,” John whispered, moving up onto his toes as though he would kiss Sherlock, but then pulled back and took his friend’s keys and opened the door. He pushed Sherlock through and resumed their same positions, only now they were hidden behind a closed door. He lifted himself and placed a hand on Sherlock’s hip before softly touching his lips to Sherlock’s own. It was a brief and tender embrace which lasted merely seconds, but was enough to cause electric currents to flow through both of them. John felt Sherlock tighten until he was frozen still at the sensation, and John pulled away cautiously, “Sorry. I didn’t know how far you wanted to…”

_ “ _ No. It’s…it’s fine. Fine,” Sherlock muttered, nodding and awkwardly turning himself before he rushed up the stairs.

_ “ _ John, Dear?” Mrs Hudson called through from her flat.

_ “ _ Yes, it’s only us, Mrs. Hudson,” John replied, roughly rubbing his face and inhaling deeply as he tried to push down his arousal and force his cock to stop pressing painfully against the zip of his trousers.

He turned in time to watch Mrs. Hudson shuffling from her flat with a large smile and an even larger and very familiar bouquet of flowers, “Look at these! I have a secret admirer.”

_ “ _ They are beautiful,” John smiled, happy at the look on his landlady’s face as she sniffed the flowers once more.

_ “ _ I guess I’ve still got it, in my old age,” she giggled happily, blushing slightly as she winked at John.

_ “ _ You’re still bloody gorgeous and I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise,” John grinned as he bent down and kissed her on her cheek, “Goodnight, Mrs. H.”

* * *

 

John squared up the kitchen and living room, putting away the leftover picnic hamper food before standing with his back to the kitchen counter. The night had taken a strange, but completely wonderful, twist and John touched his lips reverently as he remembered how Sherlock’s skin had felt against his own. The underlying fizz of arousal was back, buzzing in his veins and making everything seem sharper. Sherlock had hidden himself away into his bedroom, completely ignoring John’s questioning for tea, which John assumed was Sherlock attempting to process what happened between them.

The doctor turned off the lights and locked up, walking up the stairs to his bedroom. He closed the door firmly and let his head fall back against the doorframe as he unconsciously undressed to his pants. His hands were inside the fabric before his brain had even caught up, his fingers curling around his hot and heavy erection as he leaned against the supporting wood of his door.

_ “ _ Christ,” he spat, his eyes closed as he rocked his hips into his grip, knowing that it wouldn’t be long until he climaxed. The sensation of Sherlock’s lips against his own replaying over and over again, followed by John’s own filthy fantasies which had been collecting in his mind for months, spilling out of the small box he attempted to compartmentalise them into. John pulled down his underwear until they were at his knees, wrapping his hand fully around his prick as his mind began to wander.

_ Sherlock would be on his knees, his lips open and his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin beneath John’s cock tip. He would flick his eyes up, cerulean orbs glowing and burning into John’s very soul as the older man desperately held onto his orgasm which was being teased out by Sherlock’s ridiculously pretty hands. _

John growled, flicking his wrist at the head of his cock to coax out precum to smear along his shaft as his mind grabbed onto the next fantasy.

_ Sherlock sitting astride John’s hips, his beautiful pale skin shimmering in the light of the bedroom as he made seductive S shapes with his hips. There would be no penetration, not yet. John wanted to build to that, wanted to have Sherlock a mewling and desperate mess beneath him before he slipped inside the hot, wet body for the first time… _

_ “ _ Fuck,” John coughed at the thought, tightening his grip around the tip of his prick.

_ Sherlock would be rubbing his perfectly sized cock against John’s, frotting sloppily and messily as the detective fell forward, hair in his eyes and sweat dripping onto John’s torso as Sherlock rolled his hips and groaned. The noise a low growl in his throat followed by a high pitched keen, which caused Sherlock to blush and drop his head further with a sigh of John’s name. _

_ “ _ God...fuck...yes,” John moaned, his head thudding back against the door as his arse flexed and rolled, thrusting his cock into the tight ring he had made with his hand. The familiar and all-too-early stirrings of his orgasm made him realise that he was too close; he was unable to stop the clenching of his muscles and the burning heat which emanated from his spine through his bollocks and radiated out.

John put his free hand into his mouth, biting onto the skin as he came with a murmur of Sherlock’s name. The muffled sound seemed to echo around the empty room as John’s come erupted from his prick in five large spurts, falling to the carpeted floor with a wet  _ thrick  _ noise. John’s knees wobbled, his eyes rolling back as he attempted to keep upright as he coaxed the remaining drips from his cock onto the floor, uncaring of the clean up which would need to be done in order to stop Sherlock’s inquisitive questions whenever he next burst into John’s room unannounced and uninvited.

John dropped his hands to his side and focussed on breathing. His mind was pleasantly fuzzy and sated as he used his clean hand to rub across his face, only realising the rough teeth marks when he pulled away. He pushed down his pants from around his thighs and kicked them off, using them as a makeshift rag to clean up the ejaculate (poorly) before climbing into his bed naked and pulling the covers to his chest.

* * *

Sherlock had paced his room countless times since he had rushed up the stairs after John had kissed him.

_ John had kissed him. John had KISSED him. HIM! _

Sherlock rubbed at his eyes and then his hair. He needed…he needed... _ something, _ but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he needed.

And he was erect.

How very pedestrian and vulgar. Sherlock sneered at his transport before continuing his pacing. His cock was making it difficult to think; the blood which normally supplied his super-computer-like mind was now flooding through the intricate vessels and veins in his much maligned genitalia.

_ “ _ I hate you,” Sherlock whispered to his penis, thankful that Mycroft didn’t have any surveillance in his room to capture the world’s only consulting detective talking to his genitals.

He stopped pacing as he heard John turn off the lights and lock up the door. Sherlock knew that he should have gone back into the room and spoken to John; explained why he had rushed away - his inability to talk about his feelings and the underlying thoughts which plagued him after their first date - but it was too difficult, so he instead locked himself away in his room. Alone with his pesky erection.

Sherlock groaned and covered his face with his hands before undoing his belt and flicking open his trousers. He pulled off his pants, folding them both perfectly before placing them carefully on his chair, followed by the suit jacket he was wearing. He kept his shirt on and walked back to his bed, slightly embarrassed at the thought of what he was about to do.

He sat on the edge of the bed, wincing when his cock bent the wrong way against his stomach. Sherlock laid on his back and inhaled shakily before grabbing the spare pillow on the empty side of his bed and placing it at hip height. He blushed pink, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply before turning onto his side and pressing his cock into the feather pillow, groaning at the sweet, sweet caress of the fabric against his hot flesh. Sherlock growled low in his throat and gave a roll of his hips, pushing his shaft into the pillow again before rearranging his limbs into a more comfortable position. He rested his forehead against his arm and thrust his hips, his breath hitching when the pleasure thrummed through his body at the touch of his sensitive frenulum against the cool pillow.

_ “ _ John,” Sherlock whispered before clearing his throat in embarrassment and whining low at the shame of having to degrade himself this way.

Sherlock folded the pillow in half, trapping his cock in the fold to allow a better amount of friction as he thrust faster and rougher without finesse. He had always hated having to bow down to the needs of his transport, and self pleasure always left him with a feeling of utter shame and regret immediately afterwards.

Feeling the familiar stirrings in his testicles, Sherlock rutted harder, pushing his face into his usual pillow as he attempted to hide the soft  _ un-un-un  _ noises he made with every thrust. His orgasm washed over him with surprising intensity, which had Sherlock seeing stars for a moment as he tensed and cried out, thankful that the sounds were muffled by the deep pillow stuffing.

Turning onto his back, Sherlock looked at his come-smeared pillow and shirt tails in utter disgust. He dropped the pillow to the floor and rapidly took off his shirt to drop it beside the bed to wash. Sherlock placed an arm behind his neck and looked up at the nicotine-stained, cracked artex of his bedroom ceiling wishing he could see through it and see what John was doing, watch his face as he slept to see the quiet contemplation which happened in John’s dreams.

It was all a farce. Their dates were nothing but make-believe, which John was indulging in to make Sherlock feel better about his lack of experience in all things romantic.

Sherlock curled in on himself, turning to his side and pulling his blankets over his skin as he reached for the lamp and turned it off, leaving him alone in darkness once more.


	5. Fascinating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is where it starts getting real. Romance and true love are on their way.
> 
> Mary_Jo asked for Sherlock saying Penwings, the same way Benedict does. Ask and you shall receive!
> 
> This goes slightly cracky, but still sweet and fluffy. Promise.

_ “ _ I’ve made tea,” John knocked on Sherlock’s bedroom door, “and toast with honey. You need to eat.”

_ “ _ I ate yesterday,” came the grumbled reply through the wood.

_ “ _ Yes, but us mere mortals need sustenance, and I thought we could talk about our next date,” John smiled, listening to the sound of Sherlock throwing himself out of bed to come to the door. There was a moment of silence before Sherlock opened the door and looked out with a blush, wrapped only in a sheet, “Very well.”

_ “After _ food,” John insisted and turned away with a grin, storing away the view of Sherlock’s mussed hair and flushed cheeks. He turned back with a frown, “What’s on your pillow?”

_ “ _ Er…” Sherlock stammered, looking back before kicking the pillow further under the bed, “Nothing.”

John lifted an eyebrow but shrugged and walked back to the kitchen, sitting at the table and beginning to smear butter onto his bread. He smiled as Sherlock sat opposite him timidly, looking every inch the awkward first-time dater.

_ “ _ Any plans for the second date?” John asked.

_ “ _ Erm…no. I rather…I hoped you might have some ideas,” Sherlock admitted with a grimace.

John smiled and looked over at Sherlock fondly, “What about somewhere public?”

_ “ _ Not a meal,” Sherlock insisted immediately, “After…well…Rupert. I don’t want to be somewhere like that, and we already eat at Angelo’s together, which is close enough.”

_ “ _ Fair,” John nodded, “I’ll leave it to you. Surprise me…oh, no wait…don’t surprise me.”

Sherlock chuckled but gave a half shrug, “For when?”

_ “ _ Tomorrow? Or is that too short notice?”

Sherlock considered for a moment but then nodded, “No, tomorrow is good.”

Their night continued much the same way as it did before their dating had begun, with both men pottered around the flat, tapping away on their laptops, or making tea before retiring to bed reasonably early. John enjoyed his nightly wank whilst Sherlock was in his room, secretly plotting their second date and booking tickets online. His stomach felt strange, fluttery like small wings had exploded in his digestive tract, and he placed his hands over his tummy, looking down at his trim body.

Hopefully he wasn’t coming down with anything before their second date.

* * *

 

  
_ “ _ John? Wake up,” Sherlock said as he knocked softly on John’s door, aware that loud noises startling a PTSD sufferer wouldn’t be good.

_ “ _ I’m awake,” John grumbled into his pillow, wiping the slick of drool which connected his face to his pillow, “you can come in.”

Sherlock opened the door and took a step inside, smelling the warm and surprisingly arousing aroma of sleep which lingered around John. The doctor pulled himself to a sitting position, letting the covers fall to his waist as he stretched and rubbed his fingers through his hair, “What time is it?”

_ “ _ Almost 9:00,” Sherlock smiled. He really rather enjoyed the sleep tousled version of John. His eyes trailed down over John’s creased face and neck until he reached John’s scar. John watched as Sherlock began to stare at the mismatched skin of his shoulder, the annoyance of people staring (normally his girlfriends) didn’t come when it was Sherlock, and John was surprised by the intensity in Sherlock’s gaze.

_ “ _ You were crouched,” Sherlock whispered, coming closer to the bed and John who nodded his head, “He was in front of you. Above you. 35 degrees to the left.”

_ “ _ I didn’t see him,” John replied.

_ “ _ The bullet entered cleanly, but fragmented,” Sherlock continued, sitting on the edge of John’s bed and cautiously extending a finger before pulling back, “May I?”

John nodded once, watching as Sherlock’s long, pale finger ran feather light across his scar and mapped out the entry wound, “You have limited sensation.”

_ “ _ It’s better than it was…slowly coming back,” John shrugged.

Sherlock trailed a finger down the connecting tissue of the scar, watching John’s face as he reached his nipple, “You can feel that?”

John bit his lip and nodded his head, their eyes meeting for a long and lingering moment before Mrs. Hudson burst through the living room door and shouted up the stairs, startling both men and causing them to jump away from one another.

_ “ _ Jesus,” John gasped.

_ “ _ Not quite, just Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock grumbled, running his hands through his hair and exhaling a shaky breath. His cheeks and ears were flushed and his eyes had taken on a dark hue which titillated John immensely.

_ “ _ So. Er…if you could be ready in the next half hour, that would be wonderful. We’re on a tight schedule,” Sherlock said, turning to walk out the door before stopping and looking back at John with a smile before rushing down the stairs.

_ “ _ Oh, Sherlock, I hope I didn’t interrupt,” Mrs. Hudson gushed as she poured hot tea into cups.

_ “ _ Nothing to interrupt,” Sherlock scowled, marching around the living room awkwardly before turning to Mrs. Hudson, “Why are you here?”

_ “ _ You asked me for another picnic,” she answered, “It’s not my fault you’re in a snit, Sherlock Holmes.”

_ “ _ Technically it is,” Sherlock countered.

_ “ _ I don’t see how!” Their landlady replied, folding her arms.

_ “ _ I was touching John’s nipples!” The detective shouted, just in time for John to enter the room and look between his friend and their landlady anxiously.

There was a tense moment of silence before Mrs. Hudson turned her back on both men and hid a smile in her shoulder as she handed John his tea. John could tell there was a twinkle in the old girl’s eye as she looked up at him, her usual facade of motherly affection in full  _ ‘I told you so’ _ mode.

_ “ _ None of my business, dears,” she said as she turned, motioning to the picnic basket, “have a lovely day. I’ll knock from now on.”

_ “ _ That…won’t be necessary,” John insisted, watching as Sherlock’s face fell slightly, “it’s still your property.”

_ “ _ Oh no, you two need your privacy now…I’ll…be more careful,” she smiled and began busying herself, collecting tea towels to wash, “Oh, and I’ll pick up some earplugs, so don’t worry about keeping the noise down.”

Sherlock made a wounded noise, flushing with embarrassment and moving to open the door with an impatient gesture as John stammered, “It isn’t…it doesn’t...we’re not.”

_ “ _ Live and let live,” Mrs. Hudson winked before leaving the flat, a huff of laughter following her back to her own flat.

_ “ _ Well. That was horrific,” Sherlock grumbled.

_ “ _ It’s only Mrs. Hudson. She thinks we’ve been shagging since the beginning,” John tutted, his fingers reaching into the picnic basket before Sherlock walked across the room and slapped them away.

_ “ _ Are you ready to go?” The detective asked, walking to get his scarf and trusty coat.

* * *

The cab ride was slightly tense due to the morning’s antics, but once they arrived at their destination, John was smiling wide and happily as he turned to look at Sherlock, “London Zoo?”

_ “ _ It’s public…” Sherlock shrugged, “and…”

_ “ _ What?” John asked, paying their fare and getting out of the car and onto the pavement.

_ “ _ I like it here. I used to come all of the time with Mycroft,” Sherlock gave a half shrug, “Some happy memories...plus…well…we sort of pay a lot of money towards its upkeep, so we get VIP treatment. My mother is a patron of the zoo.”

John smiled at Sherlock, picking up the picnic basket from the backseat as Sherlock led the way towards the entrance, where a huge line of people waited. Sherlock bypassed the entire queue, breaking every rule in Britishness in the process as he pushed directly into the front.

John could only blush and apologise to the angry people who began to shout abuse at the pair when Sherlock handed the spotty teenage assistant the tickets.

_ “ _ Oh, Mr. Holmes,” the man said, obviously recognising the name from the tickets, “I er…I should…oh, god. I’m only new,” he added as an apology.

_ “ _ It’s okay,” John smiled, “he knows his way. Can we just go through?”

The boy nodded, allowing Sherlock and John into the zoo. John attempted to drown out the unhappy noises from the crowd.

_ “ _ Do you have a preference on what we see first?” Sherlock asked.

_ “ _ No, lead the way,” John smiled, linking his hand into Sherlock’s arm and allowing himself to be led away.

 

_ “ _ Did you know that deers have no gall bladders?” Sherlock asked as they passed a large herd grazing carelessly.

_ “ _ I did not,” John replied.

_ “ _ I discovered that when I was 15. A deer had been hurt on our estate and I found it dead. I cut it up and looked inside as an experiment…it was quite a painful moment when my mother caught me and screamed. It took a lot of time to explain that I wasn’t going to become a serial killer,” Sherlock laughed, “I blame Jeffrey Dahmer.”

John shook his head and laughed, linking arms with Sherlock once more as they continued their wandering around the zoo. So far they had walked to the African animal enclosure where Sherlock stopped, forcing John to stop, too.

_ “ _ Time to visit an old friend,” Sherlock said cryptically as he walked towards the elephant enclosure. John could only follow alongside as Sherlock knocked on the door and was greeted with a handshake from an older zookeeper who invited them into the elephant house.

John’s eyes prickled at the hot scent of animal waste and straw, but he watched as Sherlock walked straight to the furthest end of the shed. Sherlock looked at John, beckoning him forward as he gave a strangely jaunty whistle with a smile.

The zookeeper grinned as John approached Sherlock’s side. His breathing coming out in a gasp as an enormous elephant galloped towards them before stopping only inches from the barrier, its massive trunk reaching through the bars for Sherlock.

_ “ _ Hey, hey now. It’s okay, I know…I know, it’s been a long time hasn’t it?” Sherlock giggled, letting the elephant wrap its trunk around his waist. The detective stroked the rough skin on the animal’s head before resting his forehead against it, “I want you to meet someone,” he whispered to the animal softly, “This is John Watson.”

_ “ _ That’s an elephant,” John muttered, a look of utter confusion on his face as he blinked at Sherlock, “An elephant.”

_ “ _ Well deduced,” Sherlock chuckled, stroking the elephant’s trunk softly, “This is Patricia.”

_ “ _ She knows you,” John said, shaking his head, “She knows who you are.”

_ “ _ We’re old friends,” Sherlock replied, taking John’s hand and bringing it up to touch Patricia’s skin, “See? She likes you.”

_ “ _ How do you know?” John asked.

_ “ _ She’d have ripped your arm off by now, otherwise,” the zookeeper said behind them, causing John to pull his hand away in alarm.

_ “ _ Shhh. Calm,” Sherlock soothed, taking John’s hand again, “she won’t hurt you. Will you?”

Patricia removed her trunk from Sherlock’s waist and began to snuffle at the picnic basket, her dexterous trunk managing to open the basket to reach an apple inside.

_ “ _ Hey now!” Sherlock chastised, “That wasn’t very ladylike,” he said as he stroked her face.

John tentatively stretched his hand out and stroked along the skin of Patricia’s trunk and face, surprised at the sensation as he scratched and gently petted the enormous animal.

_ “ _ How is she? Feeding well?” Sherlock asked the keeper.

_ “ _ Aye,” the keeper nodded, “good as gold. She had another calf, you know. Big old bugger it was. We...well…”

_ “ _ Go on,” Sherlock coaxed.

_ “ _ We called it Mikey,” the keeper sniggered, “after your brother.”

Sherlock could hardly hold back the bark of laughter.

* * *

_ “ _ So, you’re best friends with an elephant,” John commented as they left the enclosure and finally settled down to eat their picnic on one of the large spaces of grass left absent by screaming children full of candy floss.

_ “ _ Sort of…” Sherlock admitted, biting into a cheese and ham sandwich whilst he considered his next remark, “When I was younger, I didn’t have many friends. The local kids thought I was a weird child, and my habit of deducing their parents peculiarities didn’t help me much, either.”

_ “ _ I imagine not,” John nodded, taking a sip of his tea from the thermos.

_ “ _ So when my mother became patron of this place, I spent as much time here as I possibly could. Patrick, the keeper, used to keep an eye on me and one day he brought me into the elephant hut. Patricia had just arrived; she was only an adolescent, but already terrified of people due to her past. Poachers killed her mother,” Sherlock said sadly, “I used to visit and bring food and a book. I’d sit in the elephant hut, or just outside with my back to the bars, and one day she came over and began trying to stroke my hair.”

_ “ _ Weren’t you scared?” John asked.

_ “ _ That’s the peculiar thing,” Sherlock answered, leaning forward, “I knew…I just  _ knew _ that she wouldn’t hurt me. After that, she would come over and I’d feed her parts of my sandwiches and one day I brought my violin,” he smiled, “I played for her. I remember I was learning Tchaikovsky, and whenever I played she would nuzzle against me.”

_ “ _ The tune you whistled,” John smiled, “she remembered the song?”

_ “ _ Must have done,” Sherlock giggled, “Elephants are wonderful creatures.”

_ “ _ You’re even more wonderful,” John answered before slapping a hand over his mouth, “Sorry, I mean…for teaching her that. For knowing those things.”

Sherlock blinked before shrugging, “I was thinking the reptile house next?”

_ “ _ Of course,” John nodded, eating his sandwich in silence and cursing himself for his lack of cool.

* * *

_ “ _ Just so you know,” John started, “this is the best and coolest date I’ve ever been on.”

_ “ _ Really?” Sherlock asked with a coy smile.

_ “ _ I’ve just hugged an elephant! Are you kidding?” John laughed.

_ “ _ Before Patricia, I always preferred the penwings,” Sherlock blushed, “there was just something remarkably dorky about them. I suppose I related to them….plus they walk funny.”

_ “ _ The what?” John giggled childishly.

_ “ _ Penwings,” Sherlock sighed, threatening to go into a sulk, “yes, I know I cannot say the word correctly. It’s a speech impediment. I thought you would be more supportive considering you claim to be a doctor!”

_ “ _ Sorry,” John flushed, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s, “it’s quite cute really. Say it again?”

_ “ _ Penwing,” Sherlock grumbled, his cheeks tinged with red, “Git.”

John huffed a laugh before frowning, “Oh, I think they said that the penguin house was closed.”

_ “ _ Pfft, for mere mortals, maybe,” Sherlock joked, taking John by the hand and leading him towards Penguin Beach.

The house was indeed closed until suddenly Patrick the keeper arrived with a bunch of keys, “I knew you’d be here eventually.”

Sherlock smiled as he was granted access along with John, the door closing firmly behind them as they walked along the walkway where the penguins frolicked in the water behind the glass. John touched his hand along the thick glass, watching as one of the penguins followed his hand before turning swiftly in the water and taking off at a quick swim.

_ “ _ We’ve had some issues with the breeding,” Patrick was explaining to Sherlock in front. John stopped listening as the pair went into intricacies that even a doctor had no idea about.

_ “ _ John,” Sherlock shouted, forcing John away from the water and into the room where two penguins were standing together, one nestling an egg on its feet.

_ “ _ This is Bert and Ernie,” Patrick smiled, “Yeah, I know it’s cliche, but it was the only possible outcome. They’ve taken on the role as parents to a rejected egg.”

Sherlock took a step forward only to be pulled back by Patrick, “They’re a bit territorial around it at the moment. I’d stay back here.”

_ “ _ Fascinating,” Sherlock whispered, crouching down to look at the birds, “and they act the same way as heterosexual penwings?”

_ “ _ As far as we can tell,” Patrick nodded, previously aware of Sherlock’s inability to pronounce the word correctly.

John looked over at the pair and then to Sherlock with a giggle. Four sets of eyes turned to look at him as he pointed towards the birds, “Sherlock…doesn’t it remind you of anyone?”

Sherlock scowled, looking at the penguin before shrugging, “No?”

Patrick seemed to catch on at that moment and began to chuckle, “Oh, now I see it.”

_ “ _ See what?” Sherlock spat.

_ “ _ It’s the penguin version of you,” John nodded at the bird not currently sitting on the egg. The penguin was taller than its mate, a few stray feathers nested on the top of its head, and it was blessed with a white ring of feathers around its neck making a makeshift scarf.

_ “ _ Ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed before stilling and staring once more.

_ “ _ It has the same colour eyes, too,” Patrick added, “spooky, that.”

_ “ _ I am not a gay penwing!” Sherlock insisted, standing to full height and pouting slightly, “You two are being infantile.”

Both John and Patrick began to giggle, followed by Sherlock who tutted and rolled his eyes.

  
[(True Story)](http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-kent-27405652)


	6. Realising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are getting blurred, sexual tension is rising. What will happen?

Once the two men returned home, they slumped together, exhausted, on the sofa. The box of special fudge which had been purchased for Mrs. Hudson sat between them as they groaned in contentment at finally being able to sit down.

_ " _ That was amazing,” John laughed, his hand moving across to stroke against Sherlock’s, “Thank you.”

Sherlock gave a tentative nod before clearing his throat, “So…what are the rules about second dates?”

_ “ _ Hmm?” John replied, his eyebrows knitting together before he realised what Sherlock was saying “Oh. Er…I mean, if you really liked the person and you enjoyed their company, then a deeper and more passionate kiss is usually given…” he trailed off, looking around the room and then at Sherlock who was blushing gently.

_ “ _ I do like the person...well,  _ you _ …I like you,” Sherlock answered, “and I would be intrigued as to…”

John stilled Sherlock by turning to face him, his hand moving to cup Sherlock’s chin and cheek as he moved his lips closer, just brushing them gently for the first long moment before he opened his mouth and sucked Sherlock’s bottom lip into his mouth. The detective whined, his eyes fluttering and his hands scrabbling for purchase on John’s shoulders as he breathed heavily through his nose. John relaxed his lips, allowing Sherlock to become used to the sensation before sliding his tongue along the seam of Sherlock’s lips.

The younger man tensed then relaxed, cautiously extending his tongue to meet John’s with a soft sighing sound. John smiled, running his hands up Sherlock’s face and round to the back of his head to play with the small strands of hair at his neck. Sherlock practically melted, allowing John to lead his first official kiss and learning rapidly and expertly within moments. John smiled as Sherlock became more confident, licking and sucking at John’s bottom lip before dipping back into his mouth to curl his tongue around John’s.

The kiss rapidly became deeper, harder and more passionate, and Sherlock decided to move closer, climbing onto his knees to shuffle forward and kneel until his bum was situated across John’s bulging jeans. Sherlock squeaked, a small, weak noise he would deny making for the rest of his life as he ground down on the hardness pressed beneath.

_ “ _ Sherlock,” John breathed, tilting his head and opening his eyes to see Sherlock’s face. The detective was flushed pink and panting hard, his pupils massively dilated as he forced himself to make eye contact.

_ “ _ Ok?” John asked carefully, unwilling to spook Sherlock.

Sherlock gave a soft nod before moving back to John’s lips, kissing and biting gently. He turned his attention to John’s pale neck and earlobes, mapping out the different scents and textures in John’s skin whilst John held his hips steady. The older man, however, couldn’t help himself; his hands trailed down, further and further until his thick palms cupped Sherlock’s plush arse, holding them tight.

Sherlock whined, bucked, and then fell forward, grabbing onto John’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around the back of John’s head and the sofa. John could only hold on, unsure of what was happening whilst Sherlock made tiny ‘Oh, Oh, Oh’ noises against his forehead.

John soon understood the situation when Sherlock gave a broken cry, shuddered, and then relaxed against John. The brunet was shaking, trembling in John’s arms whilst making pathetic whimpering noises of either intense pleasure of embarrassment. John stroked his thumb across the expensive fabric of Sherlock’s trousers before a heady and familiar smell reached him. It was the musky, bleach-like smell of male ejaculate which lingered between them.

_ “ _ Er…Sherlock?” John managed, almost choking on his tongue and then his saliva, “Y’alright?”

_ “ _ Fine,” Sherlock spat in response. John was unable to see, but Sherlock’s face was one of mortification and utter shame from his terrible transport.

_ “ _ I, er… I’ll let you get up then,” John mumbled, taking his hands from Sherlock’s arse and putting them on the sofa, flexing and curling his fingers anxiously.

_ “ _ Yes,” Sherlock replied, putting his hands across his crotch and throwing his long legs from the sofa in a move which looked flawlessly graceful as he stormed to his room.

John immediately threw himself from the sofa and locked himself in the bathroom. Standing over the open toilet lid he pulled down his precome soaked pants and grabbed impatiently at his cock, pulling it without skill or finesse until the first tendrils of pleasure shot up his spine and made him slightly dizzy. John put his other hand in his mouth, clamping down with his teeth to stop the noises escaping and giving his occupation away to Sherlock in the next room.

He was close, so close that he could almost taste the relief and finally, he tipped over the edge with a strangled cry. He came harshly into the water of the toilet, a soft whisper of Sherlock’s name on his lips as he stroked himself through the climax.

_ “ _ Yes, John?” Sherlock asked from the adjoining doorway, watching his friend with massive eyes and a slightly opened mouth.

_ “ _ What?” John stared, his frazzled, orgasmic brain not quite running at normal speed.

_ “ _ You said my name,” Sherlock gestured at John’s still hard but leaking cock which stuck perversely from his jeans, “when you were…ejaculating.”

_ “ _ It’s er…nothing. It doesn’t mean anything,” John muttered, trying desperately to put himself away without catching anything in the zip.

_ “ _ Oh. I see,” Sherlock added before taking a few steps further into the bathroom, a towel thrown over his arm and still wearing his sperm-covered trousers. He walked to John’s side, standing close to his friend and meeting his eye contact for a long moment before he leaned in, lips only inches away from John who flicked his eyes up and down Sherlock’s face before leaning in for a kiss.

Sherlock flushed the toilet chain, pulling away seconds before their lips would have met in a deep kiss. He raised an eyebrow knowingly before clearing his throat, “I should shower.”

_ “ _ Yes...shower…yeah,” John nodded, flushed and confused as he made to leave the bathroom in a rush.

_ “ _ Erm, John? Forgetting something?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

John looked quickly around the room and then back at Sherlock with a frown and a shrug.

_ “ _ Wash your hands,” Sherlock smirked before turning on the shower.

* * *

John awoke to silence. That could either be very good (Sherlock isn’t awake yet) or very bad (Sherlock is out chasing baddies on his own…or dead from an experiment…or dead from drugs…or dead from Mycroft…). John stopped the train of thought immediately and checked his phone, finding two new unread messages from Sherlock.

**Third date tonight. I’m cooking - SH**

**Don’t move the shoes from the microwave. It’s an experiment - SH**

John rubbed at his face before rolling from the bed and padding barefoot to the bathroom where he did his morning rituals and then went for coffee. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, which allowed John a little bit of a crisis before he had to face his best friend slash… _ whatever _ the hell they were becoming.

Knowing that eventually Sherlock would want to put his new-found dating skills to work, John had to start distancing himself from the situation. Focusing on not becoming too attached (too late) before Sherlock found somebody else.

But something was niggling at the back of his mind. Sherlock's seemingly untouched and forceful ejaculation from their kiss had stayed with him and was now ricocheting through his brain as he attempted to figure out what it could possibly mean. It was obvious that Sherlock had no sexual experience, but John hadn't expected it to be that easy to make Sherlock orgasm. Perhaps he hadn't pleasured himself recently and he had gotten over-excited or – maybe – just maybe, Sherlock might have feelings for him.

John scoffed at his own wishful thinking. Sherlock wasn't interested in him; if he had been, then he wouldn't have tried to date Rupert and put them into this dreadful and tense situation where John wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Steeling himself, he realised that he would need to talk to Sherlock. Properly.


	7. Conversing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go... and that's practically all smut.
> 
> Awkward conversation, truth and sweetness

His chance came later that evening when Sherlock finally called out that dinner was served. John had entered the room and immediately stopped at the romantic tableau which he was faced with.

What had once been their chemical-burnt table was now covered with a dark red tablecloth and white runner, with candles dotted along the middle. Sherlock stood nervously to one side, clad in his usual perfect attire of suit and dark shirt which made his eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he stepped forward and reached for John's chair.

John cautiously walked towards him, watching as Sherlock pulled out his chair for him with a bashful smile before helping push the chair back into the table.

“This looks…wonderful,” John said breathily, looking over at Sherlock who was plating up their food, “I can't believe you went through all this trouble.”

“No trouble. You cook for us enough, it's just basic chemistry,” Sherlock shrugged but seemed to hide his happy face from John.

Sitting back in his chair, John took in the atmosphere and listened to the beautiful violin music playing from the dock in the corner. The music was sad yet melodic, hopeful and tender, and it pulled on something deep inside John as he looked over at Sherlock who was turning with their plates.

“Asparagus, Mozzarella, and prosciutto parcels for starter,” Sherlock said as he handed John his meal and then sat down opposite, the firelight glowing in the dark curls making them look auburn.

“It looks delicious,” John hummed, taking in a deep sniff before taking a bite and groaning, “Wow. These are amazing.”

Sherlock flushed and ducked his head to take his own bite, “Thank you.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence as they ate, only the sound of passing traffic and the music from the speakers breaking the click of the cutlery against the plates.

When their plates were empty, Sherlock took them away and put them immediately into the sink before beginning to put the main course onto plates. John watched as Sherlock bent and flexed, the shadows showing off his strong back and arms even through the thin silk shirt.

“You're beautiful,” John said without thought. He immediately clamped his mouth shut as he watched Sherlock stiffen and tense. John was about to apologise when Sherlock interrupted him.

“As are you, John.”

John could feel his heart pounding almost completely out of his chest and he swallowed dryly, reaching for his glass of wine to try to dislodge the lump which had stuck in his throat. Sherlock turned and handed him his plate, piled up with steak and vegetables before sitting opposite him with his hands steepled below his lip.

Reaching for his knife and fork, John began cutting up his steak, but the atmosphere had changed to something dark and crackling with energy. He looked up to find Sherlock staring at him, his eyes laser focussed on John.

“Sherlock, eat your food,” John insisted, ducking his head.

“No,” Sherlock responded, “something has changed. Everything. Everything has changed.”

“Sherlock don't --” John begged, “Please.”

“You...” Sherlock blinked, seemingly shocked at the deduction, “you desire me.”

John sighed, putting down his cutlery and rubbing his face, “It wasn't supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be practice, so you could meet someone else.”

“I never wanted anybody else,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Then…Rupert and – and the dating?” John asked, “What was all of this for…”

“I wanted to see if you could – feel something for me,” Sherlock said, his eyes widening at the look of pure horror on John's face.

“You tricked me? You wanted to – what? See if you could challenge my heterosexuality? Just another experiment on human emotion?” John asked, suddenly feeling sick.

“No! No, John, that isn't what I meant!” Sherlock insisted as he ran his hands through his hair.

John laughed bitterly, “Then what, Sherlock? What did you mean?”

“I wanted you to feel the same way I feel about you!” Sherlock shouted, clamping his lips together quickly after.

“Me?” John asked, inhaling sharply, “Right, hold on. You need to explain this to me, because I don't understand.”

Sherlock groaned and entwined his fingers together, “I have always found you physically pleasing. You are – perfectly compact.”

John huffed a laugh, “Is that you saying I'm tiny?”

Sherlock smiled in response but continued, “Recently, I found that I was watching you more than usual. No longer content to deduce you, I actively starting observing you. I craved your company, I hated your vapid women, and I suppose deep down I was jealous. Jealous of their attention on you. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at them, with longing and desperate need,” Sherlock groaned and rubbed at his face, “I realised that you wouldn't be attracted to me; I'm not really your type. You prefer petite blondes and I am a tall brunet, and obviously the genders are different. That was my main issue.”

“Sherlock...” John tried to interrupt only to be stopped.

“So, I joined a dating site. I found Rupert and thought that if I found someone to take away the sexual needs which I found myself having, then we could continue as normal and I wouldn't drive you away. Then you suggested this practising and -- and – well, I thought that perhaps, for a short while, I might pretend that you actually desired me.”

John felt his breathing hitch and a pricking sensation flood his body as he looked over the slumped and dejected shell of his best friend. Sherlock was using his fork to pick at his barely touched meal and looked utterly broken.

“You're an idiot,” John whispered, barely audible over the music playing.

“I know,” Sherlock responded sadly.

“I wanted you always,” John said in reply, “I always have done. I didn't make a move because you said you didn't do that; you weren't interested. When you said about Rupert it was – well, it was hell Sherlock.”

“You never said!” Sherlock gasped, “This whole time, you never said once!”

“I respected your choice to remain celibate!” John said, shaking his head.

“I didn't want to be celibate!” Sherlock shouted in reply, “I wanted  _ you _ .”

“I wanted you, too!” John replied just as loudly before blushing, “Mrs. Hudson will hear.”

“She's gone out,” Sherlock waved dismissively, “Date night with Mr. Wilson across the road. She won't be in for the night.”

“Filthy woman,” John smiled.

“Disgraceful,” Sherlock agreed before tentatively looking up at John, “So all this...”

“Has been real for me,” John nodded, “I count this as our third date, if you agree.”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock nodded rapidly, “I do agree.”

John reached out his hand, searching for Sherlock's who cautiously entwined their fingers together. Sherlock looked down at their joined hands and smiled as John ran his thumb across Sherlock's knuckle.

“I read on the internet…” Sherlock smiled, trailing off as he watched John’s hand move on his own, “that the third date is the one most people are intimate.”

“Oh,” John blushed, “I mean…there’s no rush. Not really. We can -- wait, if you’d prefer.”

“No. I think we’ve done enough waiting, don’t you?” Sherlock practically purred, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of John’s hands.

“Sherlock…” John sighed, before nodding quickly, “Yes. Yes, alright.”

“Your room or mine?” Sherlock asked, standing from the table and walking to John’s side. He helped the smaller man to his feet and bent down, confidently giving John a tender, soft kiss before pulling back with blown pupils.

“Er…do you have -- supplies?” John asked.

Sherlock blushed and nodded, “Yes.”

John tried to fight down the jealousy, but it was obvious on his face as Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Not to use with anyone. For my own purpose.”

“Oh,” John smiled widely and reached back up to kiss Sherlock, his hand resting on Sherlock’s cheek as they kissed passionately.

Sherlock was about to pull them down towards his room before John stopped him, rushing back to blow out the candles and giving Sherlock a tut, “Don’t want to burn the flat down.”

“Not now I can get my wish,” Sherlock purred, but still looked nervous as he entwined their hands together again, thankful that he had indulged in a wank earlier in the afternoon to stop any embarrassing episodes like their previous date. "Let's go."  



	8. Love Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented/gave kudos. It's massively appreciated. I'm so thankful that everyone enjoyed the story, and I'm just sorry its taken 2 years to post.

Winding their way down the corridor was difficult, interspersed with bumps against the wall and giggles as the two men made it to Sherlock’s room. Carefully and reverently kissing whilst they stripped out of their clothing, piece by piece, lips and hands trailing across smooth skin whilst their garments were discarded until they stood in only their pants.

John stepped forward, his hand cupping Sherlock’s cheek as they kissed, pressing his tongue inside whilst his other hand curved around Sherlock’s hipbone, steering him towards the bed and letting him fall gracefully to the mattress. John smirked and joined him, their chests together and their groins rubbing against one another sensually as they kissed and rocked. 

“What do you want?” John asked, kissing along Sherlock’s jawline to his ear and then down his throat, “What can I give you?”

“Everything,” Sherlock breathed, his hands wrapping around John’s torso to hold him close as he carefully rolled his hips, almost breathless with pleasure.

“You mean…?” John asked, pulling back to look down at Sherlock nervously.

“Yes, I want you to take me,” Sherlock said with a soft pink blush across his cheeks, biting his lip coquettishly.

“Jesus,” John breathed, letting his head rest on Sherlock’s clavicle before nodding gently, “I’ve never…”

“Me neither,” Sherlock laughed, “so I’m sure your sex-god image will be intact once we finish.”

“Seeing you like this? I might not last a minute,” John chuckled before sitting back on his knees, looking down at Sherlock’s flushed body appreciatively. Using a finger John started a trail from Sherlock’s throat, down past his nipple, to the trail of hair leading into his pants which were tented dramatically. John steeled himself before pulling down Sherlock’s underwear, looking impressed at the size of Sherlock’s cock and the blood-flushed tip which dripped precome against Sherlock’s belly.

“I’m not sure what the formalities are of being ogled,” Sherlock smiled, teasing John, “do I remain still?”

John swatted Sherlock’s thigh before moving to kiss Sherlock’s belly, sucking a brief mark into the tight skin. Gaining confidence, John used his hand to wrap around the hard shaft and stroke, gently and cautiously, pulling the loose skin on Sherlock’s cock over the tip. Sherlock hissed, eyes fluttering closed and hands moving to the bedding as he looked up in open-mouthed bliss at his lover.

“I’ll take care of you,” John whispered, not quite sure why he was saying the words.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Sherlock hummed in reply, craning his neck for another deep, loving kiss.

John spent a few moments stroking Sherlock before his fingers moved further back, first cupping his tight sacs and then probing further behind to the perineum, and finally the crinkled entrance beneath. Sherlock’s breathing hitched and he smiled innocently, looking up at John in obvious amazement at the sensations as he widened the position of his legs, granting John better access.

“Do you -- want me to suck it?” John asked tentatively.

“No,” Sherlock gasped, attempting to calm his ardour in order to speak, “I want the first time we -- peak to be together. You inside me.”

“God, the things you say,” John growled, moving a hand to clutch at his cock in an attempt to stop the ache, “It’ll take awhile to get you -- open.”

“I’m aware,” Sherlock nodded, gesturing to the nightstand, “supplies are in there.”

John took a deep breath, steadying himself as he reached over to the bedside table and opened the top drawer. Inside was a small, labelless bottle of clear liquid, a box of condoms, and a small dildo, pushed further back.

“Oh,” John moaned, eyeing the toy “Interesting.”

“We’re men of the world,” Sherlock smirked, “I’ll ignore your toys, if you ignore mine.”

“I don’t want to ignore them, I want to use them. Or watch you use them, mostly,” John purred before lifting up the bottle, “Is this lube? It’s not one of your horrible experiments is it?”

“It’s lube,” Sherlock laughed, “the label came off. I promise it’s not suspicious.”

“Can’t blame a man for being worried,” John grinned before flicking open the bottle and sniffing the contents. Finally convinced that it was safe, John poured some of the liquid into his hand and warmed it, using one hand to coat Sherlock’s prick whilst the other went down to the crease of his buttocks, spreading them before circling the hole with his finger, feeling the muscles fluttering under his touch.

“Take a deep breath,” John whispered, watching as Sherlock’s eyebrows creased in confusion, but he followed instructions, allowing John the opportunity to push one of his fingers inside Sherlock’s body, stretching him wide.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, his hands clutching at John’s shoulders tighter as John shushed him. He carefully stroked Sherlock’s cock to keep his mind away from the discomfort of the stretch which followed when he pushed in a second finger, scissoring and stretching Sherlock as gently as possible.

“You okay?” John asked, moving to kiss Sherlock’s nose, lips, and chin.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed nervously, wiggling his hips in an attempt to have John touch his special spot.

“Greedy,” John chuckled, but carefully stroked the pads of his fingers around the other man’s prostate, teasing in small circles and watching as Sherlock bucked and tensed, teeth biting his lip.

“Another?” John asked, his cock aching and leaking onto Sherlock’s thigh even through his underwear.

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed, nodding rapidly, “Yes, please.”

John pulled the lube bottle above his hand and focussed more of the gel into it. Soaking his fingers in lubricant, John carefully and gently pushed the third finger inside, stopping midway when Sherlock winced and hissed in pain.

“Sorry. Shall I stop?” John asked nervously.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “No, just…give me a second.”

“My hands are large, I’m sorry,” John apologised, despite the odd situation.

“I think it’s more that I’m unaccustomed to having objects in there,” Sherlock said before cracking an eye and adding, “Often. I don’t do it often.”

John smiled down, stroking more on Sherlock’s cock to harden it after the fierce burn had caused it to soften slightly. Sherlock cooed, arching his back and relaxing enough for John’s fingers to slip inside fully. 

Both men groaned deeply, stilling in the moment to appreciate their closeness before John curled his fingers, seeking that spot once more and stretching his fingers open.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock moaned, fingers scrabbling for John’s shoulders, “I’m ready. John…John, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” John frowned, “Sherlock, we can wait a while and…”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted firmly, “No, I don’t want to wait. Please, John.”

John sighed, knowing that he was unable to deny Sherlock anything, and he carefully pulled out his fingers, wiping off the lube on his boxer shorts before shuffling them down his thighs. His cock was harder than steel, standing out with an almost purple, bulbous tip which dripped precome onto the bed between them.

“Condom,” John moaned, reaching into the drawer and pulling one out.

“Must we?” Sherlock asked, “I know you’re clean. You’re fastidious in your check ups and I was tested after my last relapse.”

John frowned, nervous at the prospect of unprotected sex for the first time.

“Please,” Sherlock whispered, “I want you to be the first person that I feel inside me, fully.”

John exhaled deeply before biting his lip, “Yeah…yeah, okay.”

Sherlock shuffled back on the bed, his head further on the pillow as he lifted the other one to put under his hips, raising him from the bed. He looked nervous, a little pink around the ears and cheeks as he looked up at John and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

John returned the squeeze before reaching for the lube and drizzling some over his cock, rubbing it in with his other hand before lining it up with Sherlock’s hole, careful not to push but simply to remain touching the entrance.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, interrupting John’s unvoiced question. He smiled coyly and wrapped the bottom of his legs around John’s calves, keeping them together as John gently began to push inside.

There was pain, stretching, and an overwhelming feeling of oddness as Sherlock was stretched wide around John’s cock. John waited for Sherlock to stop tensing whilst biting the inside of his cheek to stop the urge to orgasm already, his cock twitching as it attempted to get through the two muscle barriers. John moved to kiss Sherlock, taking his mind off the stretch with his clever tongue. Sherlock capitulated, groaning and relaxing into the kiss, which allowed John to push further inside before Sherlock tensed with another whimper.

“Does it hurt?” John asked, pulling back mere inches from Sherlock’s face. His body weight kept up by one arm at their side.

“Yes,” Sherlock said truthfully, knowing that John would know if he lied, “it smarts a little.”

“Should I stop?” John panicked, kissing Sherlock’s cheek, “It’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s getting better. It feels good. You feel so -- so good,” Sherlock moaned, rolling his hips and then feeling the air forced from his chest as John pushed against his prostate roughly, “Yes. There. Right there.”

“I think we’ve found it,” John grinned, rolling and rocking his hips as he began a gentle but continual movement into Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock’s hand tightened around John’s, pulling it up to rest at his head and forcing John lower. Sherlock’s cock was now being stimulated by John’s belly with every movement, the sweat and precome making it slick for him to rut against whilst John thrust inside him, building a rhythm.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, eyes wide and attempting to focus on John.

“I’m here,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s lips and cheeks, “right here.”

Sherlock’s other hand moved to cup John’s cheek, his thumb stroking the slightly sun-freckled cheekbones as his eyes roamed across Johns face. John tilted his head and kissed Sherlock’s wrist, feeling his orgasm building at the base of his spine.

“John…” Sherlock breathed again, eyes rolling back as he lifted himself forward to kiss John’s lips, their foreheads connected as the sounds of sex rolled around the room.

“Sherlock…” John moaned, barely holding onto his orgasm.

“John,” Sherlock tensed, feeling the first throb of his cock before unexpectedly coming hard up his stomach and John’s, smearing his ejaculate between them as Sherlock’s eyes rolled back and his entire body jolted and twitched, “John…I just…adore you.”

John gasped, giving a final thrust he came hard, seeing stars of white as he pulsed inside Sherlock’s body, filling him up. John’s body was trembling as he rode out his orgasm with Sherlock’s name on his lips the entire time. He sought Sherlock’s lips with his own, giving a tender kiss before resting his forehead against the other man’s as they shared breath.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John whispered, kissing away the tears which had collected on Sherlock’s eyelashes.

* * *

An hour later and after a quick clean up (and a very disgusting trip to the toilet for Sherlock), the two men lay in bed, Sherlock curled into John’s arms with his head against his thudding heart. Night was rapidly becoming morning, the light of dawn just touching the blinds in Sherlock’s bedroom which gave the room a soft, romantic glow as John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head.

Exhaustion was setting in, the dramatic discussion and vigorous lovemaking leaving both men sleepy and sated, warm in their cocoon. John had just closed his eyes when a beep from Sherlock’s phone woke him. Sherlock had already creeped out of the bed and was making his way back to the bed with a look of utter horror.

“What? What is it?” John panicked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…it’s…” Sherlock blinked, shaking his head.

John surged from the bed and reached for Sherlock’s phone, snatching it away and looking at the message before laughing until tears collected in his eyes.

“I don’t see how it’s funny,” Sherlock grimaced, “It’s -- vile. It’s not natural…it’s…”

“You’ve matched with your brother on a dating site,” John giggled.

“I’m going to need to remove my account. And this memory,” Sherlock grumbled before climbing into bed and getting into John’s outstretched arms.

A following text came in, but neither man was awake to read it. Curled up in one another‘s sleepy embrace. The message simply said:

**I rather think not. Let’s never speak of this again - MH**

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me at:  
> @AO3Hill  
> kittiekatthings.tumblr.com


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